


Conservatively Speaking

by lears_daughter



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2010-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lears_daughter/pseuds/lears_daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scanran War is over and Wyldon and Kel, among others, have been recalled for a celebratory feast. Wyldon finds himself less than impressed by his conservative tablemates, who used to be his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conservatively Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The Protector of the Small.

"Even the King calls her by that ridiculous title these days," Lord Emerfield scoffed, taking a long gulp of mead. "The 'Protector of the Small'—why, I've never heard anything so absurd!"

Lord Wyldon was careful to keep his expression blank as he lifted a piece of venison to his lips and slowly chewed. To his right, his wife, Lady Vivenne, brought a hand to her mouth as if to conceal the cruel smile that formed there.

The lady knight in question was seated four tables over from them. While her table partners—Lady Alanna, Lord Raoul, Sir Nealan, their respective spouses, and Sir Merric—laughed and joked, Keladry of Mindelan seemed almost impassive. It was only eight years' acquaintance that allowed Wyldon to see the gleam in her dreamy hazel eyes which showed her good humor.

"What was it like, Wyldon?" Lady Marillia asked. She was a withered crone whose ill temper had done her husband in a few years back.

"What was what like?" he replied, suddenly conscious of having allowed his thoughts to drift—a dangerous mistake in a pit of vipers such as these.

"Why, having to deal with the presumptuous girl, of course! I remember in her first years as a page we could always count on Vivenne to regale us with a tale of Mindelan's outlandish ambitions, but it seems that in recent years the well of stories has run dry."

Wyldon turned his head, raptor-like, to stare at his wife. Under his regard, her thin, pale cheeks flushed. She knew that she had done wrong, then, turning his private complaints into public gossip. He suspected her embarrassment came from being caught, however, rather than true shame. He set his knife down with too much force.

As he formulated his response, the minstrels began to play. At other tables noblemen and women rose to dance. Not those at Wyldon's table, though—no, those conservatives, those vultures, whom he used to consider his closest friends, they would much rather hear him malign an honorable young woman.

"I apologize for depriving you of entertainment these past few years," he said gravely. They leaned forward as if to hear him better. "As you know, I have been quite occupied by the war, and it is only Scanra's capitulation that even allows me to be here today. But enough about myself—you wished to hear about Lady Knight Keladry. Hmmm. Shall I tell you how she revealed to me the flaws in my teaching methods, inspiring me to take a position in the field again? No, that is too mundane to relate, when there are so many more exciting tales to tell. Perhaps you would like to hear how she risked everything to rescue the commoners for whom she took responsibility, and in doing so eliminated the single greatest threat our army has ever faced in combat. No? It's true, that tale is bandied about a bit too much these days. It threatens to overshadow her success in building New Hope into a successful town when all the other refugee camps remained pestilential holes, or her feats in battle when she rode out alongside Lord Raoul and took command of his troops when he was injured, leading our army to not one but three key victories. I confess that I simply cannot choose which tale to tell—I suppose I will have to leave it up to my esteemed audience to choose."

It was the most any of them had ever heard him say at once. He gazed at them as he waited mockingly for a response that would not come, his lips curving at their stunned, dismayed silence.

"Perhaps another time, then," he murmured, pushing back his chair. "Excuse me."

He strode to Keladry's table, which had emptied most of its occupants onto the dance floor. Even Raoul and Buri were moving awkwardly to the music. Merric had moved over a few chairs to sit next to Keladry, but from their serious expressions and slow conversation Wyldon suspected they were talking battle and fortifications—though there was an earnestness in the young man's face that suggested that he longed to speak of other subjects, subjects of the heart.

"Mindelan," Wyldon interrupted. He spoke in a low voice but knew that she would hear him anyway—a pleasant side effect of having been her Training Master.

She blinked up at him, taken momentarily off-guard by his proximity, before a faint smile crossed her face. "My lord," she greeted.

He could feel the eyes of his tablemates on his back. "Would you care to dance?"

Surprise flashed through her eyes and was gone. Merric was not so subtle, and gaped openly.

"Certainly," she replied, standing. "Merric, we'll finish tallying the accounts for Fanche later, all right?"

Merric nodded, his mouth still hanging open in a most unbecoming manner.

Wyldon held out his arm and Keladry laid her hand lightly on his elbow. He led her to the dance floor and bowed to her as she curtseyed. They waited until the music reached an appropriate point, then began one of the formulaic dances that were all the rage in court.

"My lord, Fanche has sent word that she thinks New Hope could do with a few less soldiers, if you have a use for them elsewhere," she said after a few minutes passed.

"Keladry," he said sternly. "This is a celebration. You have proven to us all that you can be a lady and a knight at the same time. Pray, let me prove to you that I can be a lord and put my knighthood to rest for an evening."

She raised an eyebrow. "My apologies."

They fell silent again. In sync with the other men, Wyldon turned and saw Vivenne, who had gone nearly white with rage and bared her teeth when she caught him looking. He turned again and glimpsed Nealan, who was doing his best impression of a fish at the sight of Keladry dancing with "the Stump."

He did not regret asking her to dance. There was no impropriety in it, and it made his allegiance—for lack of a better term—quite clear. Having rebuked Keladry for speaking of business while dancing, however, he wished some other topic came easily to his tongue. He considered complimenting her dress, which was a lovely green and finer than he would have thought she could afford, but his lips did not seem able to form the words.

Fortunately, Keladry seemed unbothered by the silence. She moved gracefully through the dance, a confidence to her movements that he knew came from long practice with a glaive. He was impressed, as he always was, by her stoicism, which she had had even as an eleven year old.

The music ended. Again he bowed and she curtsied. He hoped that his eyes, never very expressive, said all that his voice could not.

"Would you care to join Merric and me at our table, my lord?" she asked, the words more genuine than any he'd heard so far that evening.

"It would be my honor," he said, and followed her.

Tomorrow, they would be knights again. For tonight, he would allow himself to imagine that they were friends.


End file.
